


before those hands pulled me from the earth

by d4redevils



Category: Marvel
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Ghost Clint, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Paranormal, ambiguous time period, background stevetony, bucky has the shining, farmer Bucky, my attempt at midwest horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-17 13:08:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29100789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d4redevils/pseuds/d4redevils
Summary: Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers returned from the war with nothing but an ancient pick-up truck, a torn up map, and the weight of the world on their shoulders.A story about love, death, and small towns.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 9
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to thank my friend Carmen for helping me develop this story and letting me ramble about it! This fic probaby wouldn't exist without them <3
> 
> Also, when I first started writing this I did not know that Littleton is a real town in Iowa, so for the sake of creative liberties, this Littleton is a completely fictional town from my imagination :)

Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers returned from the war with nothing but an ancient pick-up truck, a torn up map, and the weight of the world on their shoulders. It had been Steve’s idea to get out of the city. Before the war, Brooklyn had been all they knew, but the bustling life of New York was too much for either of them to even think about. So, the two men loaded their belongings into the bed of the truck and headed west.

They started their journey without a destination in mind, drifting through town to town, and taking in the sights of a country they took for granted. It was a clear morning, the sun had been beating down the back of their necks while the truck rumbled into a decrepit town. Steve pulled the truck into a gas station, a rundown building with the only signs of life for miles.

Bucky jumped out, breathing in the dry air. While Steve stepped out to refill their gas tank, Bucky glanced at the building, taking note of the chipped paint and rusted vending machines. “Hey Stevie,” he called over his shoulder, “I’m grabbing a pop, you want anything?”

“Yeah, get me a 7up will you?”

Bucky gave him a thumbs up and made his way to one of the machines, hoping it would work. He dug around in his pockets for a few coins before slipping them into the machine and hitting the buttons for 7up and Coke. The metal of the machine groaned and began to dispense their drinks. Looking down at the newspaper rack next to the vending machine, a small flyer caught his eye.

Furrowing his brow, Bucky grabbed their drinks and the paper, and headed back to the truck. “Check this out,” he passed Steve his drink and held the flyer out for him to read.

“A farmhouse?” Steve looked at Bucky with confusion and amusement. Neither of them knew the first thing about farming.

Bucky shrugged. “You’re the one going on about a quiet life.”

They looked at each other for a moment, holding a silent conversation--one of many that they’ve shared in the decades they’ve known each other. Steve looked down at the flyer and back up at Bucky, a grin spreading across his face. “Littleton, Iowa, here we come.”

* * *

Leaning his head against the window, Bucky watches the vast expanse of land flies past them. It had been two days since they found the flyer; Steve had called the number written on it and had a pleasant conversation with a young woman who informed them that the house was still available and that she’d be more than happy to discuss the purchase details in person.

“You sure you wanna do this?” Steve glanced at Bucky, raising an eyebrow.

Bucky shrugged. “Can’t explain it, but it feels like this is something we  _ need _ to do.”

Steve nodded with understanding. It wasn’t uncommon for Bucky to get impulses, leading him to his next move. Usually these notions lead to good things whether it be graduating school or surviving the war. In the years Steve had known Bucky, he learned to trust his decisions--even if it led to them buying a farmhouse in a small Iowa town.

* * *

Within a few hours they found themselves entering Littleton Iowa, a small town consisting of a diner, a grocers, a library, a church, a post office, and a small school. Like any small town, the population was a tight knit group of people. Everybody knew everybody, and most of the locals didn’t seem to take too kindly to strangers. The town was ordinary enough, most of the buildings sat together along a main street that came off the highway, while the homes of the townsfolk branched out behind the central road.

A shiver ran down Bucky’s spine. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

* * *

After driving just outside of the town’s borders, they reached the address that had been printed on the flyer. Before them stood a wooden two-story building. The color from the wood appeared to fade with time, and weeds littered the yard and porch. It would take time, but Bucky was sure with a little work, they could make the place livable. 

A tall woman with dark hair and focused eyes stood on the porch, waiting for the truck to rumble to a stop before approaching. Steve and Bucky scrambled out to meet her, Steve taking the lead. “Ms. Bishop?” He held out a hand.

“Please, call me Kate,” She politely smiled, giving Steve’s hand a firm shake. “Thank you so much for coming, I’ve been trying to get this place off my hands for years now.”

Steve nodded with a soft smile. “Glad we can help.”

Bucky looked at Kate curiously. Her posture was stiff, and her eyes were fixed on Steve. It was as if she was avoiding looking at the house at all costs. “What made you decide to sell the place?” Bucky asked, looking at the building, which looked like nobody had been there in ages.

Kate froze, forcing a tight smile. “The house actually belonged to my friend, but after some...unforeseen circumstances...the house came into my care.”

Bucky wanted to question her more, but Steve cut in, “We’ll be sure to take good care of it.”

Leaving Steve to talk with Kate, Bucky walked around the side of the property, looking the house over. Some of the wood panels on the side of the house were falling off and the wood itself appeared cracked and rotted. Bucky took a sharp breath. It was going to take a lot more effort than he had anticipated, but a smile grew on his face. He was glad to have a goal, something to focus on rather than just the aimless wandering they had been doing before.

* * *

The price of the house ended up being cheaper than they expected, and after a few hours they had all of their belongings inside ready to be unpacked. From the inside, the house looked like any other house. There was a simple kitchen, a living room, and two bedrooms on the upper floor. Looking closer, Bucky noticed the furniture in the living room was sagging and smelled of mildew, and the wallpaper was peeling and faded. He took a step forward, hearing the crunch of broken glass beneath his boot. 

Steve looked at Bucky with an amused grin. “Looks like we got our work cut out for us.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, huffing out a laugh, and made his way up to his room to unpack. His room was the smaller of the two. There was a cot in the corner of the room until they could afford proper beds, and a dresser for his clothes, but Bucky didn’t mind. It was simpler. Bucky needed simple. 

* * *

The next morning, they decided Steve would go into town and find work while Bucky stayed behind to start cleaning up the house. Steve drove the truck along main street, parking along the sidewalk. Jumping out, Steve looked down at the several shops down the street and began to feel in over his head. 

Not knowing where to start, Steve made his way towards a flashy diner with a bright sign that said “ _ Stark’s _ : A Family Restaurant”. He opened the door, surprised to see it was almost empty with only a few people sitting in booths spread out through the diner. Inside was just as flashy as the outside, with red and yellow leather booths, bright metal tabletops, and checkered floors. Steve chuckled with surprise, and approached a young man who appeared to be working behind the counter.

The man was strikingly attractive. His hair was full of dark curls that fell into his face and complimented his bright blue eyes. He looked at Steve and flashed his teeth in a charming smile, “Now what’s a fella like you doing in a place like this?”

Steve raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms, but rewarded the man with a laugh nonetheless. “My pal and I just moved in a little ways outside of town, I was wondering where I could go to find work?”

“As much as I’d love to find something for you to do, there’s not much around here. But I think the grocery store around the corner is hiring. You’ll wanna ask for Peggy, she runs the place,” The man sighed apologetically. “Oh, and tell her I sent you,” he added with a sly grin.

Steve’s eyes narrowed, looking the man up and down. Something about the man left Steve puzzled. “Thanks, I’ll be sure to mention you. I’m Steve, by the way.”

“Tony.” The man--Tony’s smile grew. “I guess I’ll be seeing you around.” 

“I guess so.” Steve returned Tony’s smile and gave him a small wave before leaving to find the grocery store.

It didn’t take long for Steve to find the store--Tony was right, it was just around the corner. Steve walked in, looking around for someone to speak to when an older woman approached him.

“Excuse me, can I help you?” She spoke with an English accent, perfectly articulating every sound.

“Yes, my name is Steve--Steve Rogers, and I’m looking for Peggy? Tony sent me.” Steve felt himself standing straighter, wanting to impress the woman.

She looked at Steve intensely, as if she was assessing him. “I see.”

“Are you Peggy? Tony said you were hiring, and you see my friend and I just moved, and I--”

“When can you start?” Peggy interrupted.

“As soon as you need me.” Steve exhaled, relief washing over him.

“Then I’ll be seeing you bright and early tomorrow, Rogers.” Peggy smiled, looking at Steve knowingly.

* * *

Bucky had spent the day going around the house with a broom, sweeping out any debris and broken glass he could find, occasionally taking breaks to let his arm rest. The house was beginning to look better already. Beaming, Bucky began to think about what it might look like after a few more weeks of work.

A knock at the door interrupted Bucky’s train of thought. Immediately, Bucky tensed up as he made his way to the door, not knowing who could be paying him a visit. He opened the door, surprised to see two men standing on the porch. One of the men was wearing a white collar around his neck and dark red tinted glasses. 

“Good afternoon,” The man with the glasses spoke, “I’m Father Murdock, and this is my friend Foggy Nelson,” he motioned to the man next to him. 

Bucky looked at the man, an anxious feeling creeping up his spine, but he ignored it. “Oh, would you like to come in?”

Father Murdock tilted his head, giving Bucky a tight smile. “That won’t be necessary. We just wanted to welcome you to town, and make sure you know you’re always invited to our Sunday service.”

“That’s very kind of you, thank you.” Bucky nodded, trying to be polite. “We’ll see if we can make it. Thanks again for stopping by,” he smiled and tried closing the door, only for Murdock to push his foot out, preventing the door from closing.

“Before we go, I want to give you a warning. Be careful where you step, you might stumble upon something you shouldn’t have.” And with that, the two men turned and left. Bucky stared after them, dumbfounded, and the anxious feeling coming back.

He closed the door and took a deep breath, trying to shake off the strange encounter. Bucky hadn’t been planning on going to church when they arrived, and now he was almost certain he wouldn’t go anyways.

Grabbing the broom from where he had left it against the wall, Bucky moved to put it back in the closet where he found it. He put the broom back, and his eyes landed on a door he hadn’t noticed before. Curiously, he approached it, reaching out to open the door. It revealed a stairwell that led down to what Bucky presumed was the cellar.

Shrugging to himself, Bucky descended the stairs, not expecting to find much. After a minute of fumbling his hand on the wall for a light switch, the cellar was bathed in a dim yellow light. Like Bucky had expected, it was mostly empty except for a small trunk tucked away in the corner.  _ Kate must have forgotten to grab this when she put the house for sale _ , Bucky thought to himself, making his way towards the trunk.

He carefully unlatched the trunk, peering inside only to see a few books and loose articles of clothes. Bucky was about to close the trunk when a small scrap caught his eye. Carefully, he pulled it out of the trunk and examined it.

The scrap was an aged photograph of a young man, his head thrown back mid-laugh, and a large labrador jumping on top of him. Bucky smiled down at the photo, turning it over to see written in a messy scrawl “Clint and Lucky”. Something about the photo made Bucky feel warm, like he could sense the love and joy in the moment that the photo was taken.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Steve both meet someone new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank Rockstar Energy for without whom, this chapter would not have been finished.

Smoke filled his lungs, suffocating him. The deafening pops of gunfire and screams of agony surrounded him. Pain ripped through him. He thought he was screaming, but no sound came out. Trying to escape, he crawls through the mud, but he doesn’t move an inch. He’s trapped. He’s a dead man.

Bucky awakes with a start, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. He looks around, frantically, reminding himself that he is in his room in a small house in Iowa, not the deadly trenches of Europe. There are sparrows singing outside and the scent of tree sap hangs in the air. He is alive. He is safe.

Sighing, Bucky leaned his head back against his cot, staring up at the ceiling. It takes him a few moments to catch his breath and shake off the bad dream, but once his heart beat steadies, he sits up, exhales, and moves on.

He made his way down the stairs, the aged floorboards groaning underneath his weight. Bucky reached the bottom of the stairs and looked around the small house, not knowing where to start. Padding his way through the house, he opens all the windows he can find, letting the sunlight filter through, bathing the house in a warm glow. He closed his eyes, breathing in the dry air, basking in the warmth against his cold skin. 

Opening his eyes, his jaw sets in determination. His gaze falls on the rotting furniture in the living room, and he makes his way over, thinking to himself “ _Time to get to work.”_

* * *

Bucky had been working for hours, pushing furniture out the back door and into the yard. It had taken longer than it would have if he had both arms, but he refused to let that get in the way. By the time he had finished, he had been worn out, his muscles aching from overwork.

Trudging to the center of the living room, Bucky flopped down onto the floor, exhaustion overcoming him. He lay there for a while, staring up at the ceiling and feeling the joints in his worn back pop back into place. All the tension poured out of his body, and he couldn’t help but feel that he was right where he belonged.

He was suddenly torn from his thoughts by the sound of a loud thump, startling him to sit up and look around frantically. “Stevie? That you?” Bucky called, cautiously glancing at the front door. The door remained closed. According to the clock on the wall, Steve wasn’t meant to be home for another couple of hours.

Bucky wanted to convince himself that the house was simply making noise, as old houses do, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.

* * *

Like the day before, Steve drove down the town’s Main Street, parking along the sidewalk. He wasn’t expected to be at work for another half hour, so he wanted to use the opportunity to stroll down the block and look at the rows of shops that lined the street.

The sidewalk was cracked with age and some of the buildings looked a little worse for wear, but lines of flowers and trees lining the curb added charm to the street. Steve looked into the windows of several shops he passed: a shoe store, an antiques store, a gift shop. The quiet simplicity of the town comforted him, he didn’t feel the need that he had to catch up to anything–that he could go at his own pace. It was nice.

Looking across the street at Stark’s, Steve saw Tony waving at him with a dopey smile. Grinning, Steve waved back, and continued on his way.

Up ahead, a man in red tinted glasses stood in the center of the sidewalk, his head tilted up at the sky and his lips pressed into a thin line. The night before, Bucky had told Steve about the priest with the red glasses who stopped by for a visit, leaving Steve to believe the man in front of him was the same.

Steve approached the man, making sure to step heavily so that the man would hear him. “Excuse me,” he said, “are you Father Murdock?”

The man’s head turned towards the sound of Steve’s voice, the corners of his lips raising. “That I am. Forgive me, but I don’t recognize your voice.”

Gently laughing, “No, I don’t suppose you would. My name is Steve Rogers, I just moved to town with my pal. He said you stopped by last night, but I wasn’t home to introduce myself.”

“Well, there’s no time like the present.” Murdock stuck his hand out, which Steve gave a firm shake. “We’re glad to have you in Littleton, Steven. It’s not very often we get outsiders.” At the word ‘outsiders’ Murdock’s lip curled in what Steve could only think of as a sneer. 

Steve’s smile faltered, but he caught himself. “Well, Father, we’re glad to be here. I ought to head to work now, but it was great to meet you.”

“We’ll be seeing you soon.” Murdock’s grin widened, sending a shiver down Steve’s spine. 

He shook the unease off, convincing himself that he just forgot how to interact with people, and made his way to work.

  
  


Steve’s exceptional strength meant most of his duties at work consisted of heavy lifting, such as stocking shelves and bringing in crates of food that later become shelved. Another one of Steve’s duties is delivering food supplies to the various restaurants around town, which is how Steve once again finds himself at Stark’s diner.

Surprisingly, Steve enjoyed Tony’s company, falling into easy conversation with the man. The diner didn’t have many customers, so the two talked while Steve hauled the cartons into the back of the diner. Steve told Tony about Bucky and how they had come from Brooklyn, just returning from the war.

“So,” Tony lifted himself to sit on the countertop, watching Steve bring in cartons of food while he talked. “Why the middle of nowhere Iowa? Why not Tallahassee or Denver or something?”

Lifting a small carton above his shoulders, Steve chuckled. “Bucky just had a feeling that this was where we were meant to be.”

“A feeling? That’s it?” Tony scoffed.

Steve set the carton down, leaning against the countertop. “He’s always been...different,” he begins with a sigh. “Ever since we were kids he’d be staring off into nothing, talking to himself, getting all quiet. He grew out of it over time but it’s like he’s always known something that the rest of us didn’t. So naturally, when he gets a ‘feeling’ for something, I tend to trust him.”

Tony nodded, processing the information, “Well don’t let Father Murdock hear about your pal. Lord knows he’d probably try to exorcize the poor fella.”

At the mention of the town priest, a shiver ran down Steve’s back, remembering the encounter they had earlier that day. “What’s his deal anyway?”

“What, you not a man of faith?” Tony laughed.

“I’m Catholic, not that it matters.” Steve glared at Tony, but rolled his eyes and continued, “What I meant was he just...didn’t seem to take too kindly to me I suppose.”

Tony shrugged, thinking over Steve’s words. “The Father’s always been like that, at least as long as I can remember anyways. I’ve always just assumed it’s because he’s got a ‘holier than thou’ complex.”

Steve nodded, agreeing with Tony and wanting to believe he was just overreacting.

* * *

The thing about death was that it wasn’t all that memorable in the grand scheme of things. Clint had a pretty good memory. He could remember his first report card, the name of his middle school, even the day he fell off his bike and sprained his ankle. But his death? That was just a thick haze, clouding his mind. 

He tried not to think about it too much. It was in the past and there wasn’t anything to be done. The hardest part was leaving Katie and Lucky behind, but he knew they could take care of themselves without him. That thought alone reassured him more than anything.

Leaving the house was impossible, he’d tried. Several times. Sometimes he still tries, just for shits and giggles. After a while, Clint became resigned to his new ‘life’, drifting around the house, getting lost in his thoughts, and trying to ignore how lonely he felt. He lost track of time eventually, but he didn’t let it bother him. The days bled into months which bled into years. He wasn’t peaceful exactly, but he was content.

Then two assholes stole his house.

Refusing to learn their names, Clint stubbornly referred to them in his mind as Asshole #1 and Asshole #2. It had been a few days since they invaded Clint’s space, ruining the house that he had spent years putting all his care and attention to. At the back of his mind, he knew it was unfair to judge them, after all they had no clue he was still there, however that didn’t stop him from being petty.

Clint observed as the men fell into a routine of sorts. Asshole #1 left every morning, presumably for work, only to return in the evenings. Meanwhile, Asshole #2 stuck around the house, destroying Clint’s property and decor.

With nothing else better to do, Clint falls into the habit of following Asshole #2 around the house, watching him go about his day. Sometimes Clint is struck with a momentary feeling of self awareness where he becomes uncomfortable watching the man without him knowing. It’s during those times when he tries to get the man’s attention whether it be by banging on walls or stomping on the floor.

Without fail, the man freezes whenever he hears the noises Clint makes. His eyes glaze over like he’s trying to decide whether or not he’s going mad or if the noises are just the house settling. Clint wants the man to know it’s neither. The first time he got the man’s attention was an accident, when Clint fell onto the floor after being the first ghost to trip on air. After that, Clint made it a point to try to get the man’s attention at least twice a day.

* * *

It was half-past noon and Bucky getting started on his next project. The wallpaper covering the house was faded and stained, making Bucky cringe whenever he looked at it. He had already asked Steve to look for some new wallpaper options after work, so the next step for Bucky was to begin ridding the house of the decaying wallpaper.

Gripping the scraper Steve had bought for him, he began hacking at the wall. 

“What the fuck! Not the wall!” An unfamiliar voice spoke up behind him, startling Bucky into dropping the scraper, and whipping around looking frantically for the source of the voice.

“Who said that?” Bucky demanded, growing frustrated and frightened.

“Wait, you can hear me talk?” 

There was a subtle echo to the voice, which Bucky wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been hearing echoed voices for years. With that observation, Bucky forced himself to calm down, his heart steadying.

It took effort, and it was a headache and a half, but Bucky could make out the faint image of a man. A man who looked lost and just as scared as Bucky felt.

“You’re dead.” Bucky stated, being otherwise at a loss for words.

“Why can you hear me?” The man was trembling.

Bucky shrugged, forcing his voice to remain even. “Hell if I know, I’ve always been able to hear the dead.” He couldn’t believe this was happening.

“Well, shit.” The man exhaled, an expression of disbelief on his face. “I haven’t– it’s been years since anybody’s spoken to me.”

“Yeah, well I ain’t just anybody."

  
  



End file.
